


Shotgunning

by MelodramaticMrTails



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Death Threats, Gunplay, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Gunplay, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodramaticMrTails/pseuds/MelodramaticMrTails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray is in a bad mood; Ryan’s not a smart guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shotgunning

**Author's Note:**

> cross post from my blog. this is based off an idea that you can read the premise of [here](http://themadkingsendshismilk.tumblr.com/post/100436593064/whispers-i-thought-of-a-scenario-that-ray-could) or if you don't care, the important parts are ray is a drug lord of New York and at some point gouges one of ryan's eyes out.

"What? No. That's not what you said at all."

It's always pretty easy to tell when Ray is having an off day. By now, Ryan thinks he should know how to stay out of the way but he doesn't. He does keep a distance for now, though, just standing in the doorway to Ray's gaming room with his good eye facing the lad. Ray has been having an issue with several people today and while Ryan has only heard one side of any conversation, none of them seem to be going well for the other person.

"You said they'd make a grand each easy. They're making so little I'm losing money here. You see the problem?" Ray slouches in one of his chairs, controller glued to his hands as he multitasks a round of a game Ryan isn't interested in and being a cold blooded drug lord. Ryan is sure the sound of him hitting buttons can be heard over the line and he has to wonder what the other side thinks of it.

"So are you going to fix it or are we gonna have a problem, man?" His attention is clearly not capable of handling both of his tasks at once and suddenly he's sitting up a lot straighter to handle his controller a lot stricter. "Shit shit shit."

Ryan raises a puzzled brow, watching the screen shortly but failing to even get a gist of what's happening on it. It's too far away, too cluttered, and Ryan doesn't care enough. He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe calmly to observe.

"Ah shit! Goddammit! You fucking camping bitch!" Ray shouts at his television and, consequently, whoever he's on the phone with. He throws his controller down in a fit of anger, causing one of the handles to crack and a piece of plastic to go flying across the room. That clearly hadn't been good. Ray runs his hands through his hair as he tries to regain himself again. Ryan can feel the tense air around him even from across the room.

"Listen to me. You're gonna fix this. Either they make what you promised they'd make or you get rid of them and pay me back what you lost or I take your debt out of you and out of your family. Those are your choices," Ray says slowly and calmly over the phone. He leans back again, now rapidly tapping his foot against the floor in irritation. Ryan isn't sure if Ray plays video games to calm down but it definitely didn't do that today. If anything, now he's even more wound up.

" _I don't care_. If I don't see at least sixty grand from you in the next three days, I'm going to fuck your shit up," Ray warns. "Your daughter plays football really well, man. It'd suck if she didn't anymore."

A small shiver goes down Ryan's spine and goosebumps break out across his arms. Ray is always so merciless, of course, he just isn't always so blunt about it. It's weird to hear him like this but exciting none the less. Not that Ryan would really ever admit that to Ray's face. He doesn't need his ego stroked any more than it already is.

Ray hangs his mobile up before taking it in his hands and immediately going about texting. He's probably directing someone to keep an eye on this situation for him. He'll be too busy to do it himself, after all. Despite Ray's bad mood, Ryan for some reason thinks it's a good time to push him. He waits until Ray is off the phone, of course. He's not that stupid.

"Ray, I think you need to calm down," Ryan speaks out and Ray glances toward him halfly. It's not completely to antagonise Ray at any rate. Time and time again, Ryan has to prove that they're equals even if it's not true. He's not just some quiet pet that's going to sit aside quietly all the time and Ray needs to know that.

"What?" Ray replies sharply. The longer they're together, the less Ryan is intimidated by Ray. When it comes down to it, he's not as scary as everyone makes him out to be. Or rather, makes Brownman out to be.

"I hear you breaking shit in here," Ryan assures him. "Give it a rest." He has to say, he's never picked his battles wisely before. Today is, unfortunately, no different. Ray stares at him coldly but he makes no verbal response to the statement. He's obviously not in the mood. Ryan wanders into the room a little, picking up the controller that has bounced away from where Ray sits.

"Maybe if you could control yourself you wouldn't have people walking all over you," Ryan mumbles as he examines the broken edge. Ray appears to do a double take, looking at Ryan in perplexity, then around the room like something is going to happen before looking back to Ryan.

"What?" he repeats, very clearly daring Ryan to repeat himself. Instead, Ryan simply shrugs suggestively, ensuring he isn't planning on taking his comment back. He doesn't think he's wrong, really. Ray nods faintly but Ryan knows he's not going to do anything.

When Ray gets up and leaves the room, Ryan remains where he is. He wraps up the now broken controller and sets it in one of the drawers with the others. Ray has the luxury of going through these things like popcorn; the same way he goes through most thing.

"How 'bout you say that again, Rye Bread," Ray says suggestively. Ryan glances over his shoulder and very quickly turns himself around to see better with his one eye. He backs up automatically, hitting the edge of the cabinet with his back and nearly startling himself.

"Whoa, Ray," Ryan tries calmly, raising a hand as if to settle Ray down. Instead, Ray steadily advances on him with the pump action shotgun. "Jesus Christ, put that thing away, Ray."

"No," Ray answers dismissively. "You were saying something about people walking all over me or something. I wasn't listening. Say it again." Ryan swallows nervously as he slowly and carefully walks away from Ray, not daring to turn his back. Perhaps some mistakes have been made.

"I don't seem to recall, actually," Ryan insists with a shrug that's not as casual as he wants to think it is. "It must've not been that important."

"Uh huh," Ray replies coldly. Ryan hits the wall sooner than never, the solid glass giving an eerie appearance of being able to walk further than actually possible. There are not a lot of places to go and Ryan doesn't want to run. That would be a thousand times worse he's sure. Ray closes in on him the second he stops moving, pressing the muzzle of his gun flush against Ryan's throat where Ryan's heart just so happens to have jumped to.

"Ray," Ryan says carefully and he tilts his head away as if it will help. "Really. Please put that thing down. You're going to hurt me."

"Yeah," Ray agrees simply. Ryan swallows and his Adam's apple bobs against the gun muzzle. This is so bad. Ray has pointed guns at him before but usually he's not this upset and usually Ryan isn't also unarmed. There's something much scarier about having no way to protect himself.

"This is a little dramatic, don't you think?" Ryan urges, reaching up to take a hold of the barrel. When he goes to physically move it away from him, Ray pumps the forearm. Ryan's heart skips a beat. That sounds loaded! Getting the picture crystal clear, he takes his hand off the barrel instantly.

"Nah," Ray assures. Ryan knows that they're _something_ together. Maybe not quite boyfriends and not really lovers, either, but Ray likes him. Ray likes having him around and he'll even say so on rare occasion. Ryan, unfortunately, still finds himself painfully in love with the young drug lord but he also knows the parameters of their relationship. Ray should have killed him the moment they met and now he can decide to do it whenever the mood strikes him. Whether because he's bored of Ryan or angry or just because he can or as punishment, it will happen. Ryan knows there's an extremely high possibility Ray will blow his throat out right here against the window and go on with his life like it's nothing.

It's frightening because it's not a bluff, Ray is simply thinking. Ryan can _see_ him thinking, those unwavering brown eyes boring into him. Perhaps Ryan has pushed his luck too far today. Ray's temper normally isn't so short and it's easy for Ryan to forget there is only borrowed time between them. He can still sway Ray's decision though. At least, he hopes he can.

"This is hardly fair to me, isn't it, Ray?" Ryan persuades. "Just because you've had a bad day doesn't mean you need to take it out on me. I haven't done anything." He's very careful with his wording. Ray is angry. Telling him he 'can't' or 'won't' is a good way to make Ray even more upset. Slowly, Ray lowers the muzzle of his shotgun and Ryan breathes in relief. It's still pointed at him but Ray's gesture suggests he's accepted Ryan's reasoning.

"Yeah," Ray says faintly but his tone isn't all together yielding. "You right, Ry."

Crisis averted.

Ryan tries to collect his rapidly beating heart to the best of his ability, not wanting to give the image that he was affected by the ordeal more than really necessary. The moment Ray turns his back, though, Ryan quickly wets a few of his fingers on his tongue and pops his acrylic eye out of its socket. He’s discovered the hard way that when Ray is particularly upset, a good way to avoid any unnecessary conflict is to not hide his injury. Ryan isn't sure why that is but hell, it works, doesn’t it? He may not pick his fights wisely but he certainly knows when they’re over.

He should probably also know that winners get rewards; losers don’t.

Ray looks back at him and Ryan shoves his eye into his back pocket for the time being. Preferably, Ray will be off to take a nap and be in a much more acceptable mood when he awakens. Today, this is not the case. Ray gestures Ryan to follow him with a small nod of the head and Ryan is obviously a tad reluctant of doing this considering Ray still holds a loaded, ready to fire shotgun in one hand. He’d feel so much better if Ray would put that thing down but he also doesn’t feel like now is the time to say that nor is it the time to wistfully ignore any ‘suggestion’.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem as though Ray has any intention of putting his gun away. He flops down on the plush couch of the living room, shotgun laid across the cushion to his right, and spreads his legs comfortably. Ryan doesn’t have to be a genius to see where this is going. Even then, he doesn’t act on this conclusion immediately. He’s still unarmed and reasonably, he doesn’t want to be in Ray’s immediate proximity.

Ray nods him over, though, a small gesture of the head urging him to come sit upon the floor and Ryan doesn’t refuse. There’s really no dignified way to kneel but Ryan gets down between Ray's legs with most of his pride still in tact. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do it, the very opposite in fact, but rather that Ray doesn’t seem to care if Ryan wants to or not. He supposed it would be more of an issue under different circumstances.

Ryan positions his elbows on either of Ray’s thighs, making himself comfortable where he kneels. He doesn’t bother looking up at Ray, either Ray is watching him or he’s not and neither interest Ryan much at the moment, instead opting to dedicate his attention to palming Ray’s dick through his jeans. This earns him a faint groan of pleasure. On one hand, Ryan figures he can’t put his foot in his mouth if he has a dick in it. When he moves to undo the button of Ray's pants, however, the shotgun quickly comes back into play. Unable to see it approach from his blind side, Ryan subsequently jumps when the cold metal presses against his cheek without warning.

Ryan freezes up instantly. Yeah, this is exactly why he would have prefered it being put away. He glances up at Ray slightly and sure enough, Ray’s looking back down at him. The fact that the gun is completely out of his line of sight is much more unnerving than it should be. Ray gives him a short shake of the head, a lop sided curve to his lips not quite making a smile. If he's not giving head, Ryan doesn’t know what he’s doing, then. He closes his eyes when the muzzle of the gun digs harder into his cheek.

Ray draws the end of the barrel across Ryan’s cheek bone and nuzzles it against his bottom lip. Ryan sits painfully still, the metal unfavourably cold against his mouth. Shit, _shit_. Did Ray change his mind? He keeps himself calm, trying not to focus on the muzzle right in his face, but it works minimally. The only thing he can really hear is the thumping of his own heart in his chest. Ray prods the muzzle between his lips and the end bumps against Ryan’s teeth uncomfortably. He adjusts his arms to grip the edge of the couch and he glances up at Ray again uneasily.

The way he presses it so insistently against Ryan’s mouth causes Ryan to tilt his head back a touch and when he gets the point, he parts his teeth a bit nervously. The barrel rests between his teeth heavily and the metal is rough with every clank against his pearly whites. He supposes he can’t put his foot in his mouth while sucking a barrel of a gun, either. Though Ray watches on with clear interest, his face remains unmoved and worryingly apathetic. Ryan tries to keep his tongue off the barrel but when Ray nudges it further into his mouth, that tasks becomes hard.

It taste like steel and the polish makes him a little nauseous. Honestly though, getting sick from gun polish is a lot less worrisome than the loaded gun pressed against his tongue. The sight scraps the roof of his mouth and the hard edges of the muzzle fit awkwardly in his jaw. Ryan reminds himself that he doesn’t actually know for sure if it’s loaded but he's too aware that he’s never known Ray to handle an unloaded gun.

Ray allows him to pull off in order to catch his short breath and, honestly, pull himself together even if just barely. Ryan lavishes the barrel with his tongue to make it a little easier for himself. It’s the sight of Ray’s finger very clearly on the trigger that causes him to jerk to a stop. He swallows nervously. It’s not a ‘mistake’, either. Ray knows trigger discipline, but then again, he also knows not to point his gun at something he doesn't want to shoot. The fear, unfortunately, does nothing to nerf his arousal and vice versa. Ryan’s not sure why he’s surprised, really, about either of these things.

“Come on, Ry,” Ray murmurs and he grasps Ryan’s jaw in his hand so he can press his thumb against his bottom row of teeth. He plies Ryan’s mouth open a bit further so he can push the muzzle of his shotgun to the very back of Ryan’s throat until he gags. Ryan doesn’t so much mind the hand on his face because that means it’s not on the trigger. Ray pulls back again mostly so Ryan won’t choke on it and spit strings to the end of the barrel. As Ryan pants to get his breath back, Ray’s foot presses against his crotch and urges an airy groan from Ryan’s throat that he doesn’t mean to let slip out.

“Wow man,” Ray says as he rubs his foot against Ryan’s stiff cock. “You’ll get hard over anything.” Ryan shoots him a half hearted glare that he can’t keep up with the friction between his legs. As much as he would like to, he manages to stop himself from grinding against Ray’s foot, biting back any and all noises. When he opens his mouth to make a snide comment of sorts, Ray grabs his chin firmly and tilts his head back.

This is probably for the best, fairly. Ray nudges the muzzle of the gun against his lips again and Ryan wets his dry mouth with his tongue. He runs his tongue along the side of the barrel, matching Ray’s gaze only for a moment before casting his eye down again. There’s no getting used to the bitter taste but his spit makes it a bit more bearable. When he takes the muzzle in his mouth again, it’s of his own accord. Ray presses him to swallow down more of it but the stiff, unyielding barrel doesn’t allow him take it any further than the back of his mouth and even then, the sight makes him wrench back to stop from gagging.

Ryan can feel his skin crawl every time the gun jerks without his assistance, the very idea of Ray’s finger on the trigger causing his heart to accelerate again. Admittedly, Ryan can say he never thought he’d die performing fellatio on a shotgun. He also can’t say he ever thought he’d be getting off on sucking off a shotgun. That’s certainly what’s happening, though. The grip he has on the couch is so tense his knuckles turn white.

Spit wells up in Ryan's mouth and rolls down not only the barrel of the gun but his chin as well, unable to swallow it down with the muzzle so far in his mouth. Ray isn't even moving the gun anymore, letting Ryan do all the work of bobbing his head against the barrel. He has to move slowly, the sight scratching the back of his mouth with every ill made move and he knows they’ll be a lot worse tomorrow. Granted he lives through today.

“Are you really going to come in your pants from this?” Ray says curiously, pressing his foot firmly against Ryan’s strained cock. Ryan chokes out a moan he doesn’t bother to hold back. “Maybe if you could control yourself, people wouldn’t be walking all over you, Ryan.” Ryan thinks he’ll learn his lesson this time and keep his mouth shut next time but it’s unlikely that’s true.

“Just come already, dude. I got other shit to do today,” Ray urges pointedly and he grabs the back of Ryan’s head faintly. He ushers Ryan to move a little faster, every bob of the head causing the muzzle to catch against the inside of his mouth and sending little jolts of pain straight to his dick. Already Ryan is aware he won’t talk properly for days. When Ray pulls his head back with a handful of hair, Ryan shudders involuntarily.

Ryan’s orgasm jolts through him like lightning and he jerks forward harshly. Ray pulls the muzzle from his mouth, slick with saliva and shiny, and examines it idly. As he rolls the shotgun over to unload the shells, Ryan tries to regulate his breathing again. He runs his hand over the back of his neck but it does little to disperse the cold sweat that sticks to his skin and really only alerts him that he needs a shower. If the stickiness between his legs wasn’t already enough.

Ray drops a few of the shells in his lap as he stands and Ryan keeps his head down. It’s only when Ray heads toward the bedroom that Ryan glances in his direction. Ryan isn’t sure what annoys him more, Ray being completely unaffected by all of this or that this is something Ryan is interested in trying again. Shells pending.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” Ray says simply.

“Yeah,” Ryan replies. “Love you.”

“Uh huh.”


End file.
